


touch me softly like our kiss is lost

by manticoremoons



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Birthday Sex, Blow Jobs, Business, Car Sex, Cheating, Cunnilingus, Domestic Fluff, Drama & Romance, F/M, Flawed people, Jon and Dany are not related, Jon and the Starks Are Not Related, Kitchen Sex, Misunderstandings, Office Sex, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Prostate Massage, Romance, Squirting, University, Vaginal Fingering, Very Soap Opera-y, Vignette, a series of snippets, even for me, jon and sansa are married but there's little feeling there, just fair warning, lol, now with a wee epilogue, well. a little.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-07 21:13:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20456681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manticoremoons/pseuds/manticoremoons
Summary: “When did you get in?”“Around four, like I said.” Dany tilted her head to the side, her keen eyes taking apart every piece of him, the dark circles under his eyes from a few too many late nights at the office. “Miss me?”“Every single day,” he said without even a little hesitation.“Even with your good little wife waiting for you at home?”Or the one where Jon and Dany lose each other, a few times.





	1. get your mouth open, you know you're mine

**Author's Note:**

> this is a random one-shot that I’ve been playing with on and off for a while, and has been giving me something to do while i fail to work on _don't call me (maybe)_. in fact this was meant to be a smutapology because i'm not able to write much right now - it was meant to be like 2k of straight porn but then these two became characters. also, i have been wanting to write about jon cheating on someone to be with dany for a minute (i mentioned this on tumblr), so i thought, why not? sorry i haven't had time to update other things, but work is nuts so i have zero time for anything except muddling through this thing and reading other people's stories, lol. it's unbeta'd, so sorry if it's shite!
> 
> jon and dany are both business people, jon's more of an engineer who loved working on cars when he was younger. but because of his work in the company, he's gotten far away from that. the things i know about any of that stuff could not fill a thimble so bear with it.
> 
> **songs to listen to while reading**:  
[two weeks](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3yDP9MKVhZc) \- fka twigs ( for the porny bits, it was meant to be this because 'i can fuck you better than her' is A LINE. but then the story randomly turned into... [good to love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Tq0HzgDcNc) \- fka twigs.)

#### but when you give yourself away  
it always hurts too much  
so you pray to get it back  
only god can give you that

_:: an introduction ::_  
_2006AC_

The cell was dank and ugly. Oldtown University was situated in a small satellite town just outside of the Reach State’s greatest city, so it didn’t much surprise him that the jail here was awful.

“A bar fight, Snow?” a cultured voice asked from beyond the bars that held him prisoner for the morning. “I imagine even that’s beneath you.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Fuck off, Tyrion. Are you going to get me out of here or not?”

He’d met the youngest Lannister in his third year at university, Tyrion was finishing off his law degree, and they’d become fast friends. Jon had used his one and only call to get the man to come down here in the hopes that he’d post bail.

He didn’t want to think about how his fingers had hesitated, fighting the instinct to dial _her _number. She wasn’t _his _to call any longer. He wondered if she was even awake yet. He ached to think of how pale she’d looked in the hospital bed, bruising from the car accident colouring one side of her face purple and blue, a broken arm and cracked pelvis on top of that.

He hadn’t even been with her when the Mack truck rear-ended her car and yet he felt it was his fault. Maybe it was. She wouldn’t have driven off angry if they hadn’t fought the way they did.

“What happened, mate?”

“Baelish said some shit. I made him eat his words.”

Tyrion snorted at that. “I suspect there’s more to the story than you’re letting on.”

Jon shrugged.

“You love her, don’t you? Surely you can work this one out. She’s just gotten released from the hospital too—.”

“I don’t think so. Not this time. Not after what she did.”

“And what is it you _think _she did, Snow? Because you can't trust anything Varys says. Talk to her and let her defend herself. Both of you need to set things right.”

Jon didn’t think, he _knew_. But all knowing gave him was an empty feeling, like someone had amputated his heart without permission, and now there was nothing left where it should be.

_ :: rising action ::  
2017AC _

If Jon was honest with himself, he’d only come to this Kingsland annual chamber of commerce banquet because Robb couldn’t make it and at least one of them had to keep the wheels greased with the mayor’s office to ensure the deal for the new Winter-Steele factory down by the docks went forward.

That, and the certain knowledge that he’d see _her_.

There was a lot of buzz around Daenerys Targaryen’s return from Essos to take over the vacant COO position at Balerion Corp. Her brother had been dead two years already, and apparently, she’d been reluctant to replace him too quickly.

Jon wasn’t one for idle gossip. But even he’d heard about this through the grapevine, and a part of him had rippled with decade-old anger just at the thought of her. He hadn’t seen her since the accident she’d had and had done his best not to even _think _of her once he heard she’d gotten married to some Essosi businessman.

What did it say about him that he’d shown up tonight with the faint hope of laying eyes on her, just once? Much as he’d try to deny it, he was curious. For what, he didn’t know. After all, he was a married man now. As lacklustre as his union might be, he’d never strayed from it. He’d made vows and there hadn’t been any reason to break them.

Jon took a sip of the tepid champagne one of the waist-coated servers had offered him. He couldn’t stand this kind of swill or the small talk that came with it. He nodded at a few people he recognised. He wasn’t interested in starting anything up with her. Not at all. What they had was water long under the bridge. He was over it by now.

The fact that his blood was fizzing in his veins, hot with anticipation at just _seeing_ her was neither here nor there.

Of course, when he did see her, when his gaze tangled with hers across the roomful of people, and the whole universe seemed to rush back into pinprick focus after years of his blundering in a despondent haze of over-work and bland, dispassionate duty to a wife he didn't love, he’d realised the truth.

He wasn’t over anything at all.

#  **::**

“You’re a fool if you think I’ll let you leave me for that whore.”

Jon froze mid-step. Just inside the oak-panelled study that served as his home office in this mausoleum of a house on Revello Drive. The room was barely lit. All he could make out in the gloom was the sheen of glossy red hair and the glow of a cigarette, smoke coiling upwards in the shadows. His wife.

Sansa Stark lounged on a chaise, an empty martini glass at her feet and a cigarette in her hand. Jon didn’t need the lights to know she had an ice-cold sneer on her face watching him—he’d grown familiar with that look in the years they’d been married. Close to ten years now.

Refusing to show weakness, he ambled on to the liquor cabinet and poured himself some whiskey.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, _wife_.” He knew exactly what and whom she was talking about. He could still smell the scent of jasmine the lady in question wore on his skin. Still taste the sweetness of her on his tongue, the sting of the claw marks she’d left all along his back while he fucked her in the back of her limousine mere hours ago, right after the banquet.

He should feel guilty for transgressing his marriage vows the way he had, with such impulsive abandon. And yet he couldn’t find it in himself to be so. In fact, he almost wished he’d stayed with her instead of coming home this shit.

“Please,” she scoffed in disgust. “I knew the moment that Targaryen woman returned from Essos you’d be sniffing in her pants like a rabid dog. I’m merely surprised it took you so long to seal the deal.”

“You’ve had me watched?” The very thought of it made Jon’s hackles rise.

“Knowledge is power. I learned that a long time ago.”

She sounded smug to have this on him. Sometimes it was hard to believe that someone like Sansa had emerged from the same womb as her younger sister Arya, or her brother, Robb. And yet she had. Perhaps it was the time she spent as a debutante under the tutelage of society’s most reviled and powerful doyenne, Cersei Lannister. Or maybe she’d always been that way.

Jon rued the day he’d married her. Perhaps the only satisfaction he got was the knowledge that trapped as he was, Sansa wasn’t any happier than him.

“I know you’ve even talked to your lawyer.”

Jon’s eyebrow quirked. Now _that_ surprised him. He’d only spoken to Tyrion a few days ago, a casual question about divorces in their social milieu couched as simple speculation about Tyrion’s own third marriage and this viper in front of him already knew. _For fuck’s sake_.

Sansa smirked knowingly. “Tyrion’s always had a big mouth when he’s drunk off his little arse. It wasn’t hard to find out that you’ve been wondering about how to get rid of the old ball and chain.”

“What’s in it for you? Staying married to a man you despise, with no prospect of children or anything between us, Sansa?” He was honestly curious. Any other woman would’ve served him his papers and taken him to court for everything he had. But she was different, her arctic blue eyes watching him with a calculating sharpness.

She stood up then, gliding towards him in her pewter-grey silk robe. A beautiful woman without a doubt, with her russet hair, slender curves and long legs. But everything about her left him cold and had from the day the priest pronounced them man and wife.

“Oh, _husband_. Wouldn’t you like to know?” she hissed in his ear before she moved passed. She paused by the door, and said, her voice low and venomous, “If you try to divorce me, I’ll destroy you, Jon Snow. I’ll make sure that I take you for every single penny you’re worth and then some. My brother may love you like his own but you’re nothing but a mutt we took in out of pity because your crack-whore mother died. The board won’t hesitate to fire you. And I’ll make sure Father ruins you so badly that you’ll be back to fixing car engines in some dingy garage within _weeks_. So, really. Try me, and you’ll see.”

Long minutes after she left, Jon stood there. Her ugly threat hanging stale in the air around him.

Earlier today, he’d made love to the woman of his heart for the first time in over a decade and it had been glorious, and perfect, even if illicit. His fingers shoved in her pretty mouth to keep her quiet while he worked his cock inside her and bit at her neck. At the time, he’d not been thinking about leaving his wife or anything else. Daenerys Targaryen laid out before him, a feast for a starving man, had made it impossible for him to think of or see anything but her. It had always been like that, come to think of it.

Now, all he could feel was rage.

_ :: climax ::  
2020AC _

“Sir, your six o’clock is here.”

Jon Snow—_Jon_ to his friends, _Mr Snow_ to everyone else—jerked back in his seat. He squinted at the pile of contracts on his desk. He’d have to finish those up tomorrow or the day after that. It was one of the more tedious parts of running a Westeros 500 company, and he’d been using it to pass the time waiting for this very appointment to show up.

He peered at the silver-gilt clock on his desk.

_6:17 PM._

His jaw clenched as he rolled his eyes_. Of course_ she was late, exactly the sort of thing she _would_ do. She’d know he’d probably been glancing at that clock off-and-on the whole day, a tight coil of anticipation in his gut, counting the minutes until she showed up like some kind of whipped puppy. It was as much a power play as anything else with the two of them. It had been that way since he first saw her. He’d been the poor kid working his way through a business and engineering degree at Oldtown University. She’d been the darling of everyone she met, and probably the smartest kid in class while he was the loser barely scraping by on a scholarship at a top institution with not much else to recommend him but the dirt under his fingernails. Neither of them was gonna change now.

“Thanks, Gilly,” he said via the intercom. “Have her wait for me, I should be out in five minutes.” He smirked, imagining the kittenish moue she’d be making at him keeping her waiting. _Good_, _have a taste of your own medicine, dragon queen_.

“You can head on out now, I’ll lock up after I’m done.”

“Thanks, Mr Snow, I will do. See you tomorrow!” Gilly said with her usual cheerfulness. She was a sweet lady, smart, efficient and most importantly – she didn’t ask too many questions about the occasional odd hours her boss kept. Or the frequency with which a woman who was technically his rival in all things business-related and very much _not _his wife visited him at said odd hours.

Taking his sweet time, Jon put a paperweight on the contracts, rolled his chair back and wound his shoulders in a circle to work out all the kinks from sitting so long. He rolled up his shirtsleeves and loosened his perfectly-knotted tie and ran his hand through his hair. It was getting a little too long, almost reaching his shoulders. He looked very much like the leather-jacket-wearing, rusty vintage car mechanic he _used_ to be before he got dragged into the Stark family business designing luxury vehicles and anything else all that historic Winterfell steel mining and manufacturing money could buy. _She’d_ love the hair, of course. But it wasn’t strictly appropriate for the board room. Not that he gave a rat’s arse what anyone thought. He and his closest friend (who also happened to be his business partner, and, to his everlasting regret, brother in law), Robb Stark, had already made their millions—it’s not like anyone would ever question them about their hair.

“Five, four, three,” he counted under his breath, “Two—.”

His office door kicked open, the handle hitting the wall with a bang that would possibly leave a dent.

Jon bit back a smile and perched on the edge of his desk facing his door with a nonchalance that he knew would irritate the shit out of her.

“Tsk, tsk, Targaryen,” he said. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to barge into someone else’s office without knocking?”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to keep a woman waiting?” She strolled through his door and shut it behind her before leaning back against it, mirroring his stance, a feline arch to her brow.

“Have to keep you on your toes somehow, don’t I?” Jon said, his voice low.

“I don’t know, Snow, I think these Louboutin’s do a good job of that by themselves.”

“Hm,” Jon grunted in agreement. He looked down at her feet, encased in a slinky pair of five-inch heels, delicate straps with a silver buckle inching up her slender ankles. He licked his lips at the way they arched her calves just right. His gaze drifted up over the snug ebony coat with its elaborate maroon fur collar that she’d worn to guard against the autumn chill, to meet her eyes, sparkling with amusement and something darker, slightly feral, that made Jon gulp a little. The plum red lipstick on her full lips matched her shoes perfectly, and she’d done her hair in a fancy up-do that made him want to run his hands through it, and mess it up some.

It was the same feeling he’d had all those years ago when he was in his twenties sparring with her across a classroom over corporate ethics and capitalism. With her platinum hair trailing down her back, and those cute little spectacles she used to wear for reading, all he’d wanted to do back then was reach out to touch and ruffle up Daenerys Targaryen, just a little bit. And back then, she’d eventually let him—before it all went to shit.

He’d had a talent for it from the moment they met properly. Every time he opened his mouth her back’d go up like an ornery dragon before she’d come for him, claws out. They’d argued about most things. If he said it was 2 o’clock, she’d purse her perfect little mouth and inform him it was actually _one minute passed. _And then question his intelligence and ability to read in the next breath.

Then he’d discovered the best way to get her to quit arguing was to kiss her, and kiss her often. And so, they’d spent their last year in university doing just that. Apart from killing himself to get an above average GPA, keeping up with his work-study, the only thing he remembers from his varsity years is Daenerys—Dany—Targaryen. Always her—the one thing that made sense in a time when little else did.

Then they’d gone and fucked it up. They’d been young and dumb, believed a cheating rumour started by that snake, Petyr Baelish, and corroborated by the arsehole they all called the Spider, Varys. He’d been overly insecure about his humble origins and she’d been caught up in all the bad that came with being a Targaryen (when your father was serving several decades in prison for fraud and embezzlement and whatever else Aerys Targaryen had on his docket, it tended to cast a shadow on everything). It had been ugly and foolish, and entirely solvable if they’d just _talked_ to each other.

But instead, they’d broken up in a spectacular storm of fury that ended with her getting into a car accident that could’ve killed her, and him spending almost a month in a correctional facility for vandalism and violent assault.

Afterwards, Dany’d gone off and married that horse-breeding tycoon from fucking Vaes Dothrak. And, he, to get over her and show her that he _was_ good enough to marry someone as ‘high and mighty’ as a damned Targaryen, had married Sansa Stark, the sister of one of his best friends.

The Starks were old money. You couldn’t find a family with a more storied legacy than theirs. So, marrying the eldest daughter in one of the splashiest weddings of that year hadn’t been a stupid decision by any means. In fact, it had done wonders for his career. But he’d known just how much it would hurt Dany. Especially since Sansa’s father, the honourable judge Eddard Stark, was largely responsible for Aerys’ downfall and uncovering the massive network of corruption and ties to organised crime that the old man had led for close to forty years.

Jon wasn’t a saint. He’d _known_ Dany would see it as a betrayal, that she’d be hurt about it. And he’d felt a lick of satisfaction in the knowing. At least at the time.

Now, it only made his gut churn with the memory. They could have—and _should_ have—done better by each other.

There was no going back however. And perhaps a part of him was thankful for the pain they’d caused each other. Without it, _this_—the moments they had together wouldn’t be so special. They weren’t kids anymore but what they felt burned just as bright. And the knowledge of that settled warm and heavy inside him. He wouldn’t let her go this time, not now that he had her back, and she knew it, too. Scarred, and fucked up as they were, they’d still found their way back to each other, even with Dany a widow and he with his dead marriage.

And that was all that mattered.

“When did you get in?”

“Around four, like I said.” She tilted her head to the side, her keen eyes taking apart every piece of him, the dark circles under his eyes from a few too many late nights at the office. “Miss me?”

“Every single day,” he said without even a little hesitation.

“Even with your good little wife waiting for you at home?”

There was an edge to the playful question that he acknowledged but didn’t dwell on. There weren’t many people Daenerys Targaryen outright hated but Sansa Stark would likely be one of them. He couldn’t blame her for it.

The sheer number of times Jon had wished Sansa would cede to a divorce or have an unfortunate accident the way Dany’s husband was shameful. But Sansa would never let him go. They led mostly separate lives now even while living in the same home, and Jon could tolerate that.

“I wouldn’t know—I spent most of the last couple of weeks sleeping in the penthouse.”

He’d bought the penthouse a few years ago. Ostensibly, it was a spot he could host business meetings and occasionally spend the night in when it would take too long to drive out to the suburbs to the massive mansion that he and Sansa resided in. But, often, he spent the night there—not because he was so busy, he couldn’t get home or needed to meet business associates there. But because he couldn’t stand the alternative.

And he liked fucking Dany on the dining room table while he watched himself do it in the massive wrought iron mirror that covered the entire north-facing wall.

The alternative to that was onerous, silent dinners eaten across the table from a largely bitter woman who despised him but refused to free him.

Dany had been taking care of her Balerion Corp interests in Essos for over a month. The market for dragon glass products was massive right now, from medical equipment to kitchenware to weapons, jewellery and tech, the mineral was versatile and seemed to have an almost limitless scope for profit. And she was sitting on the biggest deposit on the planet, a tract of land that had been in her family for decades on the small island state of Dragonstone. No one had known what that rare form of obsidian could do or how best to harness it until her older brother and grand-uncle had put heads together and made it happen. Rhaegar was gone now, passed in a freak accident almost five years ago. And Aemon, her grand-uncle, had died long before that. She was at the company’s helm. And she was bloody good at it.

With a self-satisfied smirk, Dany kicked away from the door and took a few gliding steps toward him. “Good,” she almost purred.

He felt it like a fingernail gliding along his spine.

“I was sorry I missed your birthday this year,” Dany murmured.

It had been just the week before. He’d ended up having drinks with Robb, Davos and a couple of his other friends before heading back to the office to finish up more work. Sansa had thrown him a lavish party he didn’t want, inviting all her hoity-toity society friends and a slew of people Jon despised. And he’d spent most of the night drinking himself stupid while they all danced around him having the time of their lives at his expense.

“I knew you’d be traveling, it’s okay—.”

Shaking her head, she prowled toward him, loose-limbed and sexy. “So, I thought long and hard about how to make it up to you. What kind of … gift… I could offer.”

She came to a stop in front of him. Her hands drifted along his vest, and she started to play with his tie. Jon looked down and then back up at her, and asked with a faint smirk, anticipation skittering across his nerve-endings, “And what did you decide to give me?”

He could scent her now, the subtle mix of jasmine and lemon that always lingered on their penthouse pillows after she left and haunted his dreams every time he fell asleep on them alone.

“Me.” She let go of his tie to press her palms against his chest, sidle in closer and kiss him on the mouth, soft and sweet. “Anyway you want me.” Another kiss, this time on his chin, as she wrapped her arms around him.

“How long do I get to have you?”

“One week, our spot up north, remember? With the waterfalls, and the hot springs, and you and me far away from cell phone reception where no one can find us.”

“A whole week?” He was incredulous because he might be committed to his job, but Dany made him look borderline lazy. She was the most ambitious person he knew, and ever since he’d met her she’d had one goal—to be the most powerful business_person_ in Westeros. She was almost there. So, taking a break from that and for even a couple days let alone a week was near-unheard of with her.

He would have to postpone all his meetings next week. Feed Sansa and Robb and anyone else who’d ask a story about assessing the day-to-day at the Hardhome branch of the company. Sansa would have a fit for whatever reason even though Jon knew she wouldn’t care. And Robb would give him that sad, knowing look he’d given him for the last five or so years when it became apparent that the marriage between his best friend and his little sister was fucking doomed. Not that the man could judge Jon for being an adulterer given he’d been messing around with Margaery Tyrell for almost as long as he’d been married to his childhood sweetheart, Jeyne Westerling.

Pulling back, she shot him a brilliant smile. “Yep. I’ve made all the bookings and everything. We’ll have Silver Springs Lodge all to ourselves the whole time.”

He’d taken her up north one spring break years ago, to a spot he used to go camping with his mother before she passed on. They’d spent most of the week indoors, making love on every possible surface. And when that got old, they’d found steaming hot springs in the sprawling forests and christened them, too. It was probably one of the most purely-happy times in his life. Even then, they’d both wished they could stay there a thousand years. Have a couple of kids and make some idyllic life together without the world to intrude on them. But it wasn’t to be.

“All mine?”

“All yours.”

Jon pounced on her then. He kissed her, his tongue sliding against hers, reacquainting himself with her taste after nearly a month was like an alcoholic’s first taste of liquor after a long dry spell. He would gladly drink himself into a stupor if it meant he’d drown in her. He reached down to lift her up against him, and shuffled them over to the couch in the corner, turning around so she could sit on his lap. It was clumsy, her teeth knocking against his as he settled on the couch, but neither of them cared enough to break the kiss.

Pulling at her thighs, he settled her against his cock, already burgeoning behind the seam of his trousers and licked into her mouth. He nipped at her lower lip, pulling a groan from somewhere deep inside her throat, before drawing back to give them both a few seconds to breathe.

Dany leaned back, her fingers playing against the fur lining of her coat. “Aren’t you going to unwrap your gift?”

It was a gentle order, but it kept him frozen in position, a honeyed heaviness settling in his limbs as she clambered off him with a cat-like grace. He clasped his hands together in front of him and watched, transfixed, as she pulled the belt apart, the placket of her coat parting to reveal a stretch of lace-covered skin. The more she revealed, the harder Jon found it to breathe.

She dropped her coat at their feet and his eyes roved over every bit of her he could see.

It was a négligée, silk and lace, a deep red that was almost black that made her sun-kissed skin shimmer. It was flimsy enough that he could probably rip it off her with very little effort. The hem barely skimmed her thighs, a pair of sheer thigh-high stockings winking through the slit on the side.

“That’s—uh—a very nice gift,” he said for lack of something better to say. His tongue felt thick and stupid in his mouth. He wanted to pull her in and lick every inch of her and then fuck her on every surface of this office until neither of them could see straight, and then take her home where he’d fuck her in every room of their house until she begged him for a break.

“Just ‘nice,’?” She pretended to be pouty about it. But he knew she was laughing at him a bit. He’d never been good with words.

“If I said what I was thinking you might need to get me arrested for indecency.”

Her eyebrows arched at that, a curious glint in her eyes, even though _he knew_ she knew all the things he was planning to do to her with that get-up.

“Hm,” she said, tilting her head in contemplation. “I might have to ask you to show me that later. But right now, I’m not done with my gifts.”

_What more was there_, he wondered. This was already the best birthday he’d had in years.

And then she got down on her knees, her hands coming to rest on his thighs. His muscles tensed under the light touch, legs spreading instinctively to accommodate her.

“Let me do this for you.” Her voice was husky, and he could already see her pupils blown out just from the enjoyment of doing this to him. She ran her hands up until her fingers framed his groin, the outline of his length obscene against the placket of his trousers.

“This might be your birthday but somehow I think _I’m _getting the biggest present.”

Before Jon could laugh at her joke—he loved it when she was playful like this—she reached for his zipper, pulling it down, picking at the button at his waist so she could get to her present. His chuckle froze in his throat, he held his body still in anticipation. He was leaking already for want of her, his dick straining for freedom and the feel of her hands, tongue, _anything_.

When she yanked at his briefs, he raised his hips up to allow her to bring them down to his knees along with his trousers, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt at the same time, his body too overheated for anything else. His cock sprung up against his abdomen, hard and flushed, oozing pre-cum.

She bit her lip before she ducked to nuzzle at him, hot breath skittering against his flesh in a way that made him clench his fists_. _

Then he felt her tongue, wet, slide up the ridge at the base of his cock and he outright grunted an expletive. When she swirled around the tip and wrapped her lips around him he threw his head back against the couch, a chesty groan that sounded like her name falling from his lips.

_Gods be good, she was going to kill him_.

She wrapped her mouth around him and slid down in a tight suction that had his hips lurching upwards. She didn’t reprimand him for it, instead, taking his girth like a champ, her throat muscles working around him as she let him fuck her mouth.

If anyone would ask him, Jon would never be able to tell the things he started babbling then as he took her hair in one fist, and jerked her down until she swallowed him whole, almost to the root. The slurp and gargle of her working him over sounded obscene in the otherwise quiet office, her saliva drenching his cock and balls.

“_Fuck_, just like that, sweetheart,” he gritted. His thumb tracing the line of her jaw, her flushed cheeks bulging with his thickness. He knew how much she loved praise. “You take me so well, Dany. Only you, love.”

She looked up at him then, her eyes watering as she gagged around him. He might have pulled her off right then so he could fuck her good and proper but then her fingers dug into his hip and she whined, loud and wanton, eyelids drifting shut in frank enjoyment. She gave head with the same singular focus and attention to perfection that she did everything else in her life. Tonight, it felt like she wanted to suck him so hard that there’d be nothing left but bones and his heart, throbbing only and always for her.

He felt his balls tightening up almost painfully. His chest was damp with sweat, winded as he fucked her mouth in earnest. He felt electric, desire skittering along his skin as he hurtled towards completion.

When her hands clasped at his stones, cupping them gently before moving between his legs to his sensitive taint, rubbing at his prostate with a knowing firmness, he knew it was over for him.

Hips juddering unsteadily, he mumbled brokenly, “Please—fuck, _please_, right there.”

She knew his body so well, knew just which buttons to push.

He came with a shout that echoed in his office. His load pumping out of him and into her mouth. She tried to slurp it all, but some leaked into the clipped hair on his groin. When she finally dragged herself off him, her lips shiny with her own spit and his cum, a cat-like smirk, he could do little else but yank her up for a kiss. The slightly beery taste of his spend mixed with her sweetness made him moan.

She clambered up onto his lap, his cock twitching at the press of her plump arse even though he wouldn’t be up for a second wind for a while yet.

“Happy birthday, my love,” she whispered.

“The best one I’ve had in years,” he said. And it was true because of her. It was a precious thing to feel so … _seen_ by another person.

He pushed his lips against hers, a tender close-mouthed kiss that he ran along her jawline to the hollow of her neck where he nipped at her. Dany whimpered, tilting her head to grant him better access. He drifted down to the swell of her breasts, fingers tugging on her silky négligée so he could lave at her nipples peaking through the flimsy material.

“I’m not done with my gift yet,” he growled as he propped her up with one arm while his free hand slipped between them, between her legs to rub at her cunt. She’d worn a garter belt with no panties today, and he couldn’t be more thankful as he pressed his thumb against her clit while he slid two fingers inside her wet, tight warmth.

“You’re soaked, love.” An unnecessary observation but one that he made purely so he could see the way she blushed, a shameless grin on her face as she writhed against his probing fingers. “That all for me?”

With a shudder, she nodded and said without hesitation, “Always.”

Jon pushed a third finger inside her, then a fourth, right down to the knuckles. The constriction of her inner muscles on those digits was intoxicating. He could feel her straining around his hand as her hips jerked and pulled away before pushing back into him, hungry for more. She’d always loved this, the stretch, on the edge of pain and pleasure from the way she winced and trembled, her hands clutching at his dress shirt and his shoulders as she rode his fingers with all the prowess of the champion equestrian she’d been in her high school years.

“Yes, yes—fuck, _yes_,” she was muttering in a delirium.

He was hardening again already just from trying coax an orgasm out of her. He rubbed at her nub, pressed at that special spot inside and she shrieked, coming in a squirt on his thighs as her whole body shook with the force of it. He loved to watch her like this, in the throes of passion’s peak, her back bowed, tits half-out of her gown, her skin blush-pink and dewy with perspiration.

The most beautiful woman in the world, and she was his. Just as he was all hers.

He drew his fingers out of her and she groaned at the loss. But he didn’t leave her empty for long, shifting her on his lap so he could nudge his cock inside, gasping at the way her cunt, mid-climax, gripped him.

“Shit, that’s it.”

She nodded in agreement, harried as she chewed on her lower lip. She wound her waist in a slow, sensuous circle, letting herself grow accustomed to the fullness of him.

Jon gripped at her arse, and thrust upward, fucking into her with a steady intent. He could flip them over and take her hard and fast, but he wanted this to build, grinding her down on his cock, the wet clasp of her pussy making them both wheeze. Drawing her close, he licked into her mouth, the kiss sloppy and filthy as they both tried to consume each other.

When she pulled back for air, she leaned her forehead against his, her hips squirming against his groin in a lazy cadence. Jon’s left hand drifted up to push the top of her négligée down, freeing her breasts so he could cup them, pluck at her nipples, take the measure of her heartbeat—it was racing as much as his own right then.

“I love you,” he uttered. The words felt wholly inadequate for this too-large feeling he had right now, like his heart was too big for his chest. But when she smiled, achingly sweet, and leaned down to kiss him again, it didn’t matter. He was close already, and so was she if the clench-and-release of her cunt was any sign—and he knew all the signs with her. Each kiss melted into the next. He sucked on her lower lip, and she bit at his, their tongues duelling and ravenous.

Jon reached down to circle her clit, bracketing the swollen lips of her cunt as his cock slid in and out, and that was all it took.

They came within seconds of each other, orgasms eddying through them like warmed honey. She collapsed against his chest, breathless, her limbs splayed all over him.

Running his left hand through her hair, he brushed his knuckles along her chin and sighed into her mouth, the kiss lingering and soft. The scent of her, jasmine and something citrusy tickled his nose, mixed up with the earthier more pungent smell of their coupling.

“You make me happier than I’ve ever been, Daenerys Targaryen.” He smiled crookedly at her, the overwhelming _rightness_ of this, of _them_, hitting him once more.

“As you do for me, Jon Snow.”

But as she said it, there was a glint of something shadowed and sad in her eyes. Even now, it was hard to forget that at the end of the night, he would go to that grim mansion with his forbidding wife, and they would be parted for a time. Sometimes it felt as though everything else that happened in his day-to-day existence worked purely to obstruct him from _these_ moments, when he felt truly alive.

Jon wanted to make all sorts of promises that he didn’t know he could keep. But he choked the words back, held them in his throat, so it hurt to breathe.

_ :: a fall ::  
2020AC _

“I love you,” she said, a crack in her voice. “So much.”

Jon tried to cling to her even as she was pulling back, pulling herself away from him. “Dany—.”

“But I can’t do this anymore.” She shook her head, her white-knuckled hands clenched against her abdomen. “I can’t play the other woman to your wife for the rest of my life. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not the ‘other’, Dany—you’re…. Come on, you’re everything to me. You always have been.”

She smiled then, a horrible broken twist of her lips. “It’s not enough, darling. It can’t be.”

When she left him standing there in the penthouse that had become something of a haven for them in last three years since their reconciliation on that night they’d made love in her limousine, he felt the walls closing in. He couldn’t breathe. He’d felt this way only once before, almost fourteen years before, in a miserable jail cell in Oldtown. A few months ago, they’d been celebrating his birthday in his office and then up north, endless loving in that cabin in the snowy mountains, and now it had all disintegrated to this.

Jon exhaled. Or tried to, it was hard when the world felt like it was crashing all around him. Suffocating and stifling. Their situation felt impossible, but he couldn’t lose her. And yet here he stood, a coward, letting her walk away. Again.

_:: dénouement ::_  
_2021AC_

Jon felt lighter than he had in years really as he let himself into his new workplace. A much smaller and less glamorous three-storey building on the outskirts of Kingsland that he’d managed to get a down payment on before the divorce came through. The top floor doubled as his apartment, and the middle worked well as an office space.

He’d handed in his letter of resignation at Winter-Steele Enterprises months ago. On the same day that he’d dropped the divorce papers on Sansa’s table with a thumb drive that held enough evidence to shame her beyond repair if the information on it got out, if not land her in jail. The private investigator’s finds had surprised even him. Not only did his former wife have a lover of her own, a felon who went by the name of The Hound in underground circles, but she’d also somehow made several millions all funnelled to a secret account as a designer drug procurer for some of the rich housewives in her inner circle. A turn of events so melodramatically absurd that Jon had laughed out loud when he’d read the files.

It turned out, Sansa Stark wasn’t the only one who could make threats. A fact that had incensed her, and only made him grin at the memory of the way she’d thrown a five thousand-pound Ming vase at his head in a fit of rage.

She’d still taken him to the cleaners of course, and she’d kept the house on Revello, thank the gods. Somehow losing a good chunk of his fortune had felt more freeing than anything else. Jon had grown up poor. He still had a decent nest egg, and engineering contracts lined up for the next while. At the bottom of this office building, he'd set up a small garage where he could tinker on cars to his heart's content. He wasn't the grease monkey he used to be but it was something familiar, and that reminded him of his old self. He’d be fine.

Well, he’d try to be.

He hadn’t heard from _her_ in several months since she walked away from him that night. Six months and three days, to be exact. He’d made a habit of counting them. The spot where his heart should be felt hollowed out and bruised just thinking about her. All his calls had gone unanswered. His emails ignored. His messages probably deleted. He’d read in the papers that she’d taken a sabbatical from her post at Balerion and then disappeared from the radar entirely.

Jon had contemplated getting his P.I. to look into it but had held back. And hoped. Hoped that they’d find their way to each other a third time. But perhaps it was foolish to think he’d be so lucky again. No one was that charmed. And he couldn't even blame her. Had he truly expected that she'd wait around for years, play the mistress while he went home to another woman? However acrimonious his marriage had been, he'd been a fool to kowtow to Sansa's threats in the first place. And an even bigger fool to expect Dany to be satisfied with the status quo. It was too bad it had taken him so long to come to that realisation. By then, she'd left him for good. And he deserved it. 

So he'd wait for her come back, however long it took for her to forgive him. Much as it pained him. Much as it felt like he was dying on the inside with the waiting. 

Plunking his briefcase on his desk, he threw himself into his chair (one of the things he’d brought along with him from his old life) and scanned through his emails.

“Mr Snow, your afternoon appointment is here,” his intercom buzz. Gilly was another thing he’d brought with him. She’d willingly taken a cut in her salary and followed him to this rather less glamorous setting and Jon was thankful for her loyalty. Without her organising his life, he likely would’ve lost his bloody mind already.

“I didn’t know I had a meeting this afternoon,” Jon said, nonplussed.

Gilly snickered, her good humour palpable even through the phone. “I took the liberty of making it, sir.”

Jon frowned. Oh well, this was exactly why he hired the woman. “Sure, show them through, thanks.”

He distracted himself looking through his diary as the door opened and closed with a firm thud.

“Hello, how may I…” he drifted off when he looked up to see Dany. _Dany?_

Shooting up from his chair, he stumbled around his desk as his eyes tried to take all of her in. She was fetching as ever, her hair longer than the last time he’d seen her, reaching almost to her chest in soft moon-pale waves. She offered him a smile, warm and yet with a tremulous nervousness at the corners of her mouth. As his gaze moved further down, he gaped at her protruding belly, the loose knee-length shift she was wearing did little to hide it.

_What the fuck._

“Um, you’re—.”

“Pregnant,” she said, cutting him off gently. “Yes.”

“How?”

She giggled then, shaking her head at his idiotic question. And Jon couldn’t help but grin at the sound, he’d missed it.

“I suspect in the usual way, Jon Snow. It was probably during our time up north… or just a few weeks after that. At least that’s what the doctor thinks, time-wise.”

“Oh.” He sounded like a dumbass.

“Yeah, _oh_.”

It was taking his brain a lot of time to catch up to the reality of what she was saying, and what he was seeing. Dany was here. Dany was _pregnant_. With _his_ child. Had been pregnant when she ended things all those months ago and left him—

“I want to be angry that you didn’t tell me but I’m too happy you’re here. I’ve—I missed you.”

“Every single day,” she said with no hesitation, tears shimmering in her eyes.

It only took a few steps before he had her in his arms, his mouth finding hers with familiar ease, she tasted sweeter than he recalled. He deepened the kiss, inhaling every breath she released like a man on the edge of dying. _Gods_, he’d missed this. Missed her.

He cradled her and their baby with as much gentleness as he could muster, his hand gliding along her spine to cup her arse while the other skidded to her belly, a frisson of disbelief that in there was a child that he’d helped to create. _His_.

This time, they’d not let each other go. He’d make sure of it.

# :: fin ::


	2. epilogue: good to love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes Jon less than a day to realise he is freaking the fuck out about this impending fatherhood thing. Or rather, it’s going to drive him crazy.  
No, more accurately: _Daenerys is going to drive him crazy_.
> 
> **Or the one where Jon's scared he's going to screw this up, so he tries to take things slow and cautious. Dany seems to have other ideas.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, i had the pieces of this - the hours after their reconciliation - and figured i'd just post. unlike the first part of this story, this takes a hard pivot into a much lighter, fluffier comedic tone (which is a choice. but it sometimes comes most natural to me, so i went with it). 
> 
> it's also inexplicably written in the present tense because i wanted it to feel more in the moment. writing is funny like that. anyway, hope it's fun to read at the very least.

_ _

_ :: an epilogue of sorts :: _

It takes Jon less than a day to realise he is freaking the fuck out about this impending fatherhood thing. Or rather, it’s going to drive him crazy.

No, more accurately: _Daenerys is going to drive him crazy_.

It starts on the afternoon she comes back to him. He spends it in an ecstatic daze, full of awed gratitude that the gods have been so kind to him when he barely deserves it.

He sends Gilly home early and takes Dany by the hand up the elevator to the third floor of his building into his newly-furnished flat where he gathers her close so he can just hold her. Breathe her in. Inhale that familiar lemon and jasmine scent of hers is as intoxicating as ever. Taste the soft skin under her jaw, and behind her earlobe, reacquaint himself with how _good _it feels to just have her in his arms.

In doing so, he discovers the effect that this pregnancy is having on her body. If she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen before, _now_ she’s … fucking incandescent. _And_ she’s the _mother of his child_, a fact that sends a thrill charging through his body every time he thinks about it. It has him thinking all sorts of brutish Neanderthal-like thoughts about planting his seed in her womb, and staking his claim, marking his territory and fucking her pregnant for the rest of their lives. _Gods, he’s a mess._

She is undeniably curvier. He did try hard not to be a creep about feeling her up but there’s no mistaking how her plumper arse fits just _right _against his groin, or the lovely swell of her breasts. He is in love with her, but he isn’t fucking blind.

Nevertheless, he makes a silent vow to keep things chaste. He manages to refrain from mauling her right there on his living room floor that evening.

He's just got her back—the woman he’s loved for nearly his entire adult life. They aren’t kids anymore—he’s almost forty, for the love of the gods. He wants to take this seriously and slowly. The last time they reconciled three years ago, they fucked each other in the back of a limo within hours of meeting eyes across a ballroom floor. But they also got trapped in a pattern that was guaranteed to make them both unhappy in the long-run.

He doesn’t want to fuck things up as he’s been known to do, so he needs to be careful. To give Dany time.

If he had his own way, he’d be bending the knee and offering her a ring before mounting her on his bloody couch this very second. _But he wants to do this right_. So, he’ll wait until they’re both ready for all of that—the intimacy, the marriage proposals, the sex and everything else.

On his best behaviour, he perches behind her on his comfy couch for some innocent cuddling while they look at pictures of the baby. Or the foetus, _their foetus. _Just the thought of that has Jon’s face splitting in half with a smile.

The first sonogram shows the foetus as a tiny speck no bigger than a full-stop.

“Wait, where is it?” Jon asks as he turns the photograph this way and that trying to distinguish where their future kid is amidst all the other similarly-sized dots.

Dany points at a dot. “Right there.”

The dot looks no different from the rest. But Jon just nods along and pretends he can see it.

The next few images have the little dot growing into an even bigger one and then, it starts resembling an actual mini-baby.

“Gods, there she is,” he murmurs as he rubs his forefinger against their little one. And despite himself, he feels his eyes smarting just to see this thing that’s half-him, and half-the person he loves most in the world taking shape.

“Are you crying?” Dany asks him, while she tries to hold back a grin.

“No!” he says in loud denial.

With a hum, she cranes her neck to press a kiss to his cheek as if his weeping over some foetus pictures is the most charming thing he’s ever done.

“What was that for?”

“You are adorable, Jon Snow.” She kisses a line from his cheek to the corner of his mouth, her tongue poking out to lick at his lips all kitten-like and soft.

Jon practically throws himself off the couch like he’s been electrocuted. His cock’s already hardening in his trousers from _one _kiss, for fuck’s sake.

“Tea? Would you like some tea, love? Are pregnant women allowed to drink tea?” He’s babbling. And he knows he sounds like five kinds of fool doing it. But he can’t stop himself. “I should get you some tea. I think I have some decaf in there, maybe? I’ll go check.”

Making his escape to the kitchen like a demon being chased by the hounds of hell, he misses the look on Dany’s face as she watches him go. Her eyebrows quirk high on her forehead, and the corners of her mouth are twitching.

As soon as he’s by the kettle boiling water for tea, he berates his own penis. “Down, boy. _Please_.”

#  **::**

Dany decides to spend the night. Jon’s just grateful that he doesn’t have to be the one to beg her to do so. He can feel the fragility of this, of them being together again. He’s loved her for a long time, but his inaction and passivity had hurt her before and he’s afraid to lose her once more. He doesn’t want to be parted from her and it’s a relief to know she feels the same.

Settling into his king-size bed in his usual boxer shorts, he tries not to goggle when she comes out of the bathroom wearing nothing but one of his Oldtown Uni t-shirts and her undies. The grey material’s frayed and thin after hundreds of washes and where it might have been big on Dany before, it’s certainly not now. Her belly and her breasts strain against the front so hard that Jon could swear he can see her nipples. Her thighs, shapely but with a heft and thickness to them that makes him want to do all sorts of bad things, are a distraction. Her knickers are a lacy wine-red, and he can see the neatly trimmed thatch of blonde hair just above her cunt from here.

He’s going to die.

Jon’s thankful he’s already under the covers so she can’t see his cock giving her an eight-inch salute. Not that the universe gives a shit because seconds later, Dany’s sidling in close, throwing her one leg over his as she tucks her face in the spot between his shoulder and chin. Jon whimpers.

“Are you all right, my love?” she asks, her breath warm and sultry against his neck where his pulse beats a mile a minute. “You’re so tense.”

“I’m great,” he says, and his voice sounds like a breathless wheeze. He scrambles for an explanation. “Just, you know, tired. It’s been a… an exciting day for us.”

“Oh.” There’s an oddly downbeat note to her voice in that single word. If he didn’t know better, he’d say it sounds like disappointment.

Jon doesn’t let himself dwell on it, instead, flicking off the lamp by his side of the headboard and settling in to _try _and sleep.

#  **::**

When Jon wakes, he comes to with a moan. There’s a welcome weight above him, and his cock is nestled in the most enticingly warm crevice. Even through his boxers, he can feel a faint dampness that he instinctively thrusts up into. He wants more. He wants to _fuck_—

His eyes shoot open to find Dany, sprawled half on top of him, her cunt lined up almost perfectly against his dick and her eyes closed in sleep even as her pelvis grinds against his in a rhythmic circle, and he can _feel _she’s absolutely drenched through her underwear.

_Shit_.

He doesn’t want her to have to wake up to him rutting into her like a savage. With a gulp, he tries to extricate himself from underneath her. He gently shifts her so she’s lying on her back. It takes some manoeuvring to do it without waking her up and without giving in to the temptation to throw her against the mattress so he can shove his face between her legs and lick all that wetness up for himself.

She makes a pouty whining sound when he finally manages to clamber out of bed. And Jon can see her hips squirming against the empty spot he left behind.

What he wouldn’t give to climb right back onto that bed and make whatever she’s dreaming about come true….

Shaking himself out of his thirsty fantasies, he heads for the bathroom. He needs to take a shower. A cold one.

#  **::**

He makes a detour to the kitchen to put some coffee on and check the news headlines on the TV he has mounted by the fridge. The anchor is yammering about some kind of radical separatist movement gaining traction in the North—more like a bunch of losers with too much time on their hands and no concept of basic economics. He huffs in disgust.

Jon moves to fetch some things to make Dany breakfast in bed – fruit, streaky bacon and eggs, some orange juice and croissants that he can pop in the oven. Just as he lays it all out on the counter to start putting it all together, he feels a pair of arms slip around his shirtless waist from behind.

Belly tense at the cool fingernails brushing against it, he smiles, “Morning, love.”

“Morning,” she mumbles, her voice still a little fuzzy with sleep. “You making me breakfast?”

“Of course, what do you feel like—?”

He cuts himself off when her hands splay against the waistband of his boxers, and then her fingers slide down to the fly buttons where his cock, still hard, is pressing insistently.

“Dany….”

“I’m in the mood—but honestly for something other than breakfast,” she says into his spine, her lips trailing kisses along each vertebra.

Now, Jon is many things. But made of stone isn’t one of them. He turns around to face her, crowding her back against the kitchen table right in the centre of the room.

“I tried to be all good guy and patient—_for you_,” he points out before he lifts her up with ease and plonks her on the table. “I didn’t want to rush things so you wouldn’t feel like I was an arsehole with a one-track mind—.”

Dany puts a hand to his chest to halt his attempt to kiss her. “Wait _that’s_ what you were trying to do?” She looks incredulous and annoyed.

“Here, I’ve been trying to have sex since the moment I saw you yesterday and you kept pulling away, and practically running every time I tried to make a move.” Her voice grows shriller as she pokes at him, her irritation plain on her face.

“I was trying to be a gentleman.” Which sounds so stupid when said out loud.

“If I want a gentleman, I’ll be sure to let you know. I was starting to think you found me deeply unattractive because of this,” she says, gesturing at her belly. “And these.” With a vague wave at her perfect tits.

Before he can reassure her that these assumptions could literally _not_ be further from the truth and tell her that he’s just been too scared to fuck this up (again), she bursts into tears.

Jon gapes.

Catching his dumbstruck expression, Dany sniffles with a grimace. “Shut up—these pregnancy hormones have been messing with me for months. Before, I was puking everywhere. And now, I just cry at the drop of a hat or get extra moody and horny.”

Handing her some kitchen paper to blow her nose, Jon utters the only thing he can right then: “I love you, Daenerys Targaryen.”

“Stop trying to distract me,” she mutters but he can see the smile on her face before she blows her nose.

“No really,” he says as he pulls her to the edge of the table and spreads her legs so he can stand between them. “I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life showing you all the ways, if you’ll have me. But right now, I’d just really love to kiss you.”

Dany’s grinning now, all trace of tears gone except for her slightly splotchy nose. Jon thinks she’s never looked more beautiful than in this very moment.

She closes her eyes and purses her mouth. With a laugh, Jon kisses her there. But he keeps it short and sweet. “Didn’t tell you _where_ I want to kiss you, sweetheart.”

Before she can complain, he drags a chair and sits down, putting his face level with where he really wants his mouth to be. He grabs hold of her legs and notches them over his shoulders before he ducks down to kiss her through the soaked material of her panties.

“Oh—_oh_,” Dany moans, catching on. She leans back on her elbows, so he has better access, and so she can watch him. There’s a hunger to her hooded gaze. She bites her lip.

Jon grips her panties in both hands and tugs like the brute he’s tried not to be the last few hours. It doesn’t take much effort to rip them, and reveal her cunt, slick and dusky-pink with arousal, her clit winking at him from her folds.

The scent of her floods his senses. He wishes he could drown in it, in her taste. Clasping her thighs, he bends forward to do just that. Licking from the bottom of her slit right to her nub, he sets out to devour every part of her. Tongue swirling at her entrance, he savours the slightly bitter and citrusy tang of her, sucks on her clit as it swells against his lips, nudges his nose into her blooming cunt like a ravenous wolf.

She’s keening above him, loud and abandoned in his wood-panelled kitchen. Her heels dig into his back, spurring him on, and she’s grinding herself against him, fucking his face in a frenzy of lust.

“Jon—Jon—Jon—_JonJonJon_. Come on, _yes_.” His name sounds like a prayer he’s more than happy to answer.

Shifting one arm to cradle her womb and hold her steady, he brings his free hand up to push first one then another finger inside her. She’s impossibly tight, and he can feel his cock thickening at the promise of getting in there. _Soon. _For now, he contents himself with eating her out, slurping at her leaking juices greedily.

When he curls his fingers deep inside her, she yelps and comes hard and fast, her thighs bracketing his head as she pulls on his hair. He laps up every spurt of her release, drinking her in until she eventually starts to calm, and her hips stop trembling.

“Gods, you are really way too good at that,” she says, her voice hoarse and breathy.

Jon leans back and stands. His cock’s aching and ready to be inside her. When Dany catches sight of it, she just splays her legs even wider. An invitation for him to fuck her if he ever saw one. But just in case he didn’t get the memo, she says plainly, “Fuck me.” And then, for manners’ sake, she adds a gasping, “_Please_.”

Without preamble, Jon shoves his boxers down and grips his length, brushing the mushroom tip against her folds before he lunges in. He can feel it’s been a while for her just as it has for him, so he takes her in a series of shallow thrusts, deeper each time until he’s buried to the root.

He growls at the glove-tight feel of her around him. It’s _too_ good. Too fucking good.

Hoisting one of her legs over his elbow, he starts to fuck her. His hands shoving at the t-shirt she’s still wearing so he can glimpse her tits, heavy and teardrop-shaped—he’ll have to spend quality time with them later. He settles for fondling them, pinching at the flushed peaks until she’s crying out for him to give it to her even harder.

The table’s shaking and creaking beneath them. The telly’s become little more than static noise in the background. All Jon can hear, all he _cares about _is making Dany come, and flying off the edge of a cliff alongside her. He’s close, too. His orgasm tickling at the base of his spine. When Dany reaches down to rub at her clit, it sets him off, his hips juddering with the force of his release. And she’s not far behind, her mouth open in a silent scream as her body lurches.

_Had it always been this good?_ Jon can’t even tell. How he survived these many months without her, he’ll never know. But he’s never going to go through that again.

Struggling to catch his breath, he pulls out of her carefully. They both hiss at the loss. And the sight of his come leaking out of her and onto the table beneath, with her belly swollen with _his_ child, just makes him want to start over again. Something primal rearing up inside him.

He might’ve even tried it if it wasn’t for her tummy growling, persistent and loud. They both chuckle.

“I should feed you some of that breakfast now, shouldn’t I?” He tugs his boxers back on—no need to risk burning himself while he’s making her bacon and scramble.

“And then, afterwards, you can feed me your cock,” Dany quips, as she sits up, pulling her shirt down to (regrettably) cover her breasts.

Jon throws his head back, laughter rumbling out of him at her raunchy joke. She’s always known how to make him laugh and he’s missed it. He helps her off the table and nudges a tender kiss against her forehead and then her cheek. “Why do I feel like you only want me for my body and the great sex.”

Dany smiles beatifically, that bright pregnancy glow makes her skin shimmer in the early morning light of his kitchen and he’s struck again by how lovely she is. She pats his shoulder then follows up with a playful tweak of his left nipple before she makes her way to the fridge. “Don’t worry, I love your good heart, too, Jon Snow.”

If the rest of his life consists of Dany driving him crazy in exactly this way, he’s rather all right with that.

#  **:: fin ::**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that happened. bye!

**Author's Note:**

> if you got to the end, you deserve a prize. thanks for reading! feedback is cool.


End file.
